Curled up in bed, I clutched my tummy as my mum Tracy came in with my trusty hot-water bottle.
‘This'll help love,’ she said, smiling sympathetically.
And, sliding it under the duvet and pressing it against my skin, I found it did.
Ever since I'd started my period at 12, I'd been getting terrible pain.
‘Just part of being a woman,’ my GP had said.
Surely not?
Every month I felt like I was being stabbed in the belly with a knife.
I couldn't concentrate at school, sometimes I'd even pass out.
Paracetamol didn't
